


thrusting spades into the soil

by FeoplePeel



Series: Her Majesties of Fillory [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Counted Word Fic, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 07:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: "City boys. You'd think fifty years would train the black thumb out of him but look at those hostas! Who can't take care of ahosta?"





	thrusting spades into the soil

**Author's Note:**

> A short piece I wrote off the back of [throwing knives into a storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18951484), that takes place in the same universe, wherein Fen is married to Margo, Fillory's chosen High King. The challenge was: 750 words about Alice and Eliot and gardening in Fillory.

Alice finds Eliot in the castle gardens, crouched between two trees bearing fruit that reminds her of overgrown pomegranate. She considers moving on--she needs to consult with Margo about their God problem and, frankly, she's spent so much time with Eliot lately she's sick of seeing his too-handsome face--but an Eliot ruining silk-garbed knees is a mystery that begs to be solved.

She coughs as she enters the thickest part of the grove and his shoulders hitch.

"Lady Quinnevere," he acknowledges, a sardonic twist to his lips. It's not a cruel nickname, though equally one she's not sure she's earned.

She situates herself next to him. "What are you doing?"

Eliot pulls back the shrubbery in front of his face to accommodate her view. "See for yourself."

A safe distance away, Quentin is sitting on a stool, plucking weeds from a garden bed. The flowers surrounding his ankles are more recognizable, though wilted and darkened and dry.

"When we were," Eliot vacillates, head tilting left and right, "_away, _we had to work the land. I may be misremembering how much Quentin actually contributed but I don't recall him being this…,"

"Abysmal," Alice says, unrepentant. "I was raised in a mansion and I can tend to plants better than Q."

Eliot heaves a great sigh. "City boys. You'd think fifty years would train the black thumb out of him but look at those hostas! Who can't take care of a _ hosta? _"

"He's trying to transplant an Earth garden into Fillorian soil, cut him some slack."

"I shall not, he ought know better."

Alice purses her lips. "You can either sit here and watch him fail or figure out a way to help."

Eliot considers this for a moment. "What you got?"

Alice holds up a hand, light shining from each fingertip. "Phosphoromancy, you?"

Eliot cracks an earnest grin. "Fertilizer." 

* * *

Two clandestine weeks later, Fen points to the middle row. "And those are?"

"Begonias."

"Begonias," Fen repeats dutifully then, quietly under her breath. "_Be gone_...Margo will like that."

"Devil to grow in this soil," Eliot says around the tip of his index finger.

"They also need a bit of shade," Alice chimes in helpfully.

Quentin stares between them, brow furrowed. "Really? Should I...move them somewhere else? They're doing pretty well here."

Fen clips one of the orange flowers and adds it to her steadily growing bouquet for Margo. "You may have gotten lucky. Until last week these were looking awfully crispy."

"Right," Quentin sounds embarrassed. "Well, it'll be a fun project."

"Actually," Alice steps forward because they had planned for this. "I could use your help translating, uhm, runes."

"What about…," his gaze flicks towards Eliot. 

"My knowledge is tapped," Eliot places his hands on Quentin's shoulders. He sounds about as sincere as any of his humble declarations, so the look Quentin gives him is appropriately dubious. "How's about this, I'll look after the garden for a while, you handle R&D with Hermione. In the evenings you can come check in."

Quentin seems, if anything, more skeptical, but he gives in with a tilt of his chin, squeezing one of Eliot's hands before ducking out of his grasp to follow Alice.

This makes it all the more surprising when he leans against the nearest wall as soon as they're out of earshot.

"Thank god," he huffs, running a hand through his hair, pulling it away from his eyes. "I thought I'd be in that miserable hell for another week."

"The...garden?" Alice responds more slowly than she'd like.

"I figured if I fucked it up enough he'd eventually jump in." Quentin smiles at her, pushing away from the stone wall at his back. "So long as I didn't flat out ask for help anyway."

"..._why?" _

"Eliot _ is _ tapped. He's been needing a distraction and _ that_," he thumbs the way they'd come, "is great for him."

Quentin says it like it's the truest thing, like he knows better than Eliot might. Alice doesn't doubt him for a second.

"Sorry I didn't notice."

"Why would you? He's not exactly forthcoming, emotionally speaking."

"I'll keep an eye on him," she assures him and receives a blinding smile for her effort, as rare as it is goofy.

She's not sure how she landed in the position between Eliot and Quentin in their sly quest to help one another via landscaping, but at least she thinks--_hopes-- _the castle gardens are safer for it.

(And Fen was right. Margo loved the begonias.)


End file.
